Dr Shepard, I Presume
by darthsquirt2
Summary: Instead of enlisting in the Alliance marine corps when she turned 16, Shepard enrolled in Vancouver university instead. Years later, in 2182, she is one of the senior research staff in the prothean archives on Mars. That is to say, until Captain David Anderson pays her a visit to recruit her for the maiden voyage of the S.S.V. Normandy, and its top secret mission to Eden Prime.
1. Office Hours

Captain David Anderson paused outside the office door. He checked the name-plate one more time to ensure he was in the right place. She'd never let him hear the end of it if he wasn't. As he hit the door's chime, he knew that this excursion of his was a long shot, but the admiralty board had put him in charge of _the Normandy's_ recruitment, and he was determined to take whatever odds he needed to for a shot at getting the best for his new command. He waited in the hall for almost half a minute before the door slid open with a sharp hiss.

The office beyond was dark, the lights presumably at their lowest setting. It was altogether very spartan as far as furnishing went. Very...regulation. Though Anderson did notice a perfectly-kept cot in the corner of the room. Evidently he wasn't the only one married to work. The room's brightest source of light was a datapad being held by the sole other occupant. She was dressed smartly: a neatly-pressed labsuit and impeccably trimmed and combed sharp red hair. Bright green eyes stared up at him over half-moon spectacles. She was chewing her lip. That was a tell, Anderson was sure. What exactly it was a tell _of_ he couldn't hazard a guess.

"Apologies, Captain Anderson," the woman spoke in that curious accent of hers (or lack thereof) which belied her spacer origins, "I would've answered sooner, but I rather enjoy the noise the doorbell makes." The way her lips quirked when she spoke made Anderson wonder whether or not she was joking. "Do come in."

Anderson took a few steps into the room and the door closed behind him, cutting the exterior hallway light from the office. He took one of the two spare seats across the desk from his potential recruit. "This isn't a formal visit. You can call me David."

"Only if you can remember my first name, Captain."

He had to concede the battle. He didn't think anyone remembered her name. Hell, her own _mother_ had probably forgotten by now.

"Very well then, _Dr._ Shepard."

Her lips quirked again as her eyes slid back down to the screen before her. Anderson knew she was waiting for him to speak and drag her attention back away, but he found himself momentarily curious as to her current studies. That was the issue with datapads. Anyone could read them from behind, as long as they could read backwards.

"Analysis and Speculation as to the Nature and Purpose of the Caleston Ruins by Dr. L. T'soni." Anderson read aloud before looking back up at Shepard. "Stimulating read?"

"Fascinating. However," her eyes rose back to meet his, "I doubt you came all the way to Mars to discuss my choice in recreational literature? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I have an offer for you." Came his response. Slowly, at first, before finally picking up steam. "I've been given a new command, and leeway to pick the crew myself. The admiralty board's exact words were "anyone you want, Anderson. Anyone you need." He paused for a moment, but her eyes told him to keep going. Good. He had her interested. "Its a new vessel. Sleek, quick, and virtually undetectable. First in her class."

Her brows furrowed as she spoke: "Are there any other specifics?"

Anderson couldn't help but grin at the way her eyes lit up with curiosity, He had her now, he was sure of it. "_The_ _Normandy's _a joint venture between us and the turians."

"Joint crew?"

"Just alliance. We built it to handle missions other task forces aren't equipped for. Like Torfan." His tone dropped at the mention of that infamous battle, then resumed its usual quality. "And for that, we need a science officer. An expert in as many fields as we can expect to need, and a few that we have no right to ever anticipate being relevant."

"Then I sound perfect." Shepard quipped.

"And that's why I'm asking. Figured I'd give you the right of first refusal."

Shepard's eyes shot to the ceiling to her right. A gloved finger rose to tap her lips idly. "Hmm. Leave this stuffy laboratory, get a bulkhead under my feet again, meet interesting people, dissect interesting specimens, interesting puzzles, the infuriation my mother will no doubt feel, the opportunity to serve aboard a cutting-edge vessel, not to mention the pension I'll inevitably merit, and the dashing heroics etcetera, etcetera." Her lips quirked again as she returned her gaze to Anderson.

"And, of course, there's your acute sense of duty." They shared a knowing look at that particular in-joke. "So, you're in?"

"You didn't even need to ask. My doctorates are wasted in here." She said dramatically, raising an arm to rest the back of her hand on her forehead. "I'm practically stagnating. When do I ship out?'

"Two months. The Alliance will take care of all the arrangements. I'll deal with the university myself if need be." He rose, then extended his hand towards her. "It'll be good to have you aboard, doctor."

She took his hand and shook it once before releasing. "Of course it will."

And for the first time in several months, Shepard allowed herself a hearty grin. "It will, won't it?"


	2. Coming Aboard

"Attention on deck!"

Dr. Shepard stood, her lips slightly pursed with amusement, in _the Normandy's _C.I.C. The entire crew had been assembled to welcome their captain aboard. She could feel a few curious glances spared for her who accompanied him. It certainly was an impressive vessel. Sleek and compact. The C.I.C., she noticed, was curiously turian in style. The deck below her hummed with energy, no doubt caused by the ship's eezo core, which would need to pack quite a bit of power to fuel both the engines, and the stealth drives, while being small enough to actually fit inside a hull smaller than that of most frigates. Shepard would've given half of her doctorates on the spot to be able to study that marvel of mass effect manipulation for even a week. Unfortunately, she doubted that her temporary clearance bought her _that_ level of classified information.

_More's the pity._ She lamented.

"At ease." Anderson's voice seemed like it could fill the entire bridge by itself.

Shepard noticed that despite his words, the assembled crew had not relaxed in the slightest. Save for one man near the back. She doubted he was well acquainted with regulations, or at least the act to following them. His face was scruffy and unshaven, and he wore a navy "ballcap" (a word whose etymological roots had been lost to time, Shepard momentarily thought). It was only after a moment of observation that she noticed his leg bracers. She knew of three possible diseases, and four injuries that would cause such a thing.

_Braiser's disease and marrow deficiency both easily correctable. No, he's used to those bracers, otherwise he would have excused himself for medical reasons. Kolliv's? No. This ship wouldn't be equipped to treat, and his flesh isn't in the process of necrotization. Recent accident? Series of fractures? Possible, but unlikely. No. Most likely osteogenesis imperfecta. Vrolik's syndrome. Curious. What duties aboard an alliance vessel would allow for such a disability? Quartermaster? No. Mandatory physical standards. "Fit as marines," the commissariat brags. Technician? Engineer? Pilot? _

She cast her eyes over the man one more time.

_Pilot._ She finally decided. He was most certainly _not_ an intellectual. They were either clean-shaven, or possessed of much more impressive facial hair. That and his hands were not stained. Ony pilots in the Alliance merited subdermal implants for holographic interfaces.

Shepard dimly registered that Anderson had mentioned her by name.

"...will be serving as the ship's chief science officer. Some of you may be apprehensive about having a civilian running amok on board. Be that as it may, you will learn to deal with that, or you will be transferred to another posting so quickly, the council will wonder whether the Alliance has managed to develop personal teleporters. Is that understood?"

There was a resounding chorus of "Sir! Yes, sir!" from the crew.

"Good. Anything to add, doctor?" Anderson turned to her, inviting her to speak.

"Only that I promise to restrain my utilization of involuntary electroshock therapy, save on those who earn my wrath." Her lips quirked as she observed not a few shared glances amongst the crew. "That was a joke. I am familiar with Alliance protocol, and shipboard life. My door will always be open. Thought do knock. The..._experiments _do so hate to be startled. Yes." She was grateful to see that this time, most of the crew took her attempts at humor in stride. The ship's pilot, or, at least, the man she induced to be the pilot, was snickering from the rear ranks.

"All right," Anderson said, his voice snapping the entire crew back to attention, "everyone back to your stations. Doctor, if you'll follow me."

Shepard followed Anderson as he led her further down into the vessel amid the bustle of an entire crew returning to their duties.

"You handled that well." He muttered to her as they passed out of the C.I.C. "Better than any other civilian contractor I've seen."

"I've had some..._familiarity_ with Alliance crews. As you well know, Captain."

"Fair enough." He accepted her conversational dodge with his customary quiet grace. After a moment, "You'll be bunked behind the medical bay. We've set it up as a research facility. Even so, it's cramped, and you'll be sharing the space with the spare medical supplies, but it beats a chiller."

"Sounds unnervingly like home already." Shepard smirked in response. "I assume that I will be kept busy?"

Anderson chuckled at that. "Our ship's surgeon and chief engineer might end up shanghaiing you into assisting them during the shakedown stages. After we make our first stop, you'll be kept busy, I assure you."

Shepard's curiosity sprang forward, her mind buzzing at various possibilities. She shut it out, knowing that she had too little data to begin any fruitful speculation.

"I assume that asking would be fruitless?"

"You'd be right." Came Anderson's gruff reply. "I'll brief you once we're through the Sol relay."

"You will be sworn to secrecy first, of course." Came a voice from behind them. Shepard didn't need to turn to recognize it as turian. "We can't have you running around spilling sensitive information, now can we?"

Shepard and Anderson rounded to face a dark-scaled turian in rather imposing armour. Shepard immediately pegged both the model, and the origin of the turian's facial markings. The results were unnerving.

_Not standard. Too well equipped even for a commando. Deathwach? No. They have distinctive patterns. Not hierarchy._

Shepard's blood froze in her veins as the results came in.

_SpecTRe._

"Shepard," Anderson began, obviously discomforted in this turian's presence, though not as much as Shepard was becoming, "this is Nihlus. He's-"

"I know, Anderson." Shepard said, altogether more tersely than she had intended.

Nihlus looked slightly surprised. He hid it well, but Shepard knew turian facial expressions and body language better than most turians themselves. "You do?"

"I happen to be blessed with some, _small_, degree of intellect." Shepard deadpanned as she looked Nihlus up and down again. "besides. Everything about you positively screams "SpecTRe."

"Hmm." Nihlus loomed over her, his throat humming in thought. "Evidently." He turned to Captain Anderson. "I need to speak with you." He shot a glare at Shepard, who felt the hair on her neck snap to. "Alone."

Anderson shot her an apologetic look before turning back to the SpecTRe. "Very well. We'll speak in my quarters. Shepard, the medical bay is just through there." Shepard nodded and turned away as Anderson and Nihlus stepped off. She took a deep breath the second the door hissed shut behind them (locked, she noticed). She _really _disliked SpecTRes. She understood them, knew the reasoning behind their existence, and even accepted them. But she still couldn't stand to spend too much time near one. She still found the concept unnerving.

The medbay was just across the deck. It's bio-seals slid open with a sharp hiss as she approached. The ship's surgeon, an elderly woman who was aging quite gracefully, looked up at Shepard as she stepped through. "Good Lord, my dear. You look as if you've seen a ghost."


	3. En Route

Shepard was acclimating quite well to her new posting. She forgot how much she enjoyed ship life. Everything came flooding back to her. The bustle of the ship around her, the steady _shuuuuum, shuuuum _of the ventilation system above her, and the thrum of the drive core below her all contributed to lead her analytical mind to a clear verdict; the SR1 was _alive._ Intellectually, she knew this was untrue, but she liked the metaphor, so she did not banish the thought from her mind as she was want to do with more frivolous musings. She also reflected, albeit briefly, that if the vessel was indeed alive, then she was one if its physicians. At least temporarily. Captain Anderson had been right about the chief engineer press-ganging her into service. He'd wasted no time in requesting her assistance in performing system diagnostics across the vessel. She'd eagerly accepted, it must be said. Dr. Chakwas was a brilliant conversationalist, but Shepard infinitely preferred busy her hands and mind than let either grow idle. Her tests on ship systems had taken her from the cryo pods to the ship's bridge. Unfortunately, it was occupied. She'd been correct on both her diagnoses of the man she'd seen in the C.I.C. earlier. He was both the pilot, and clearly a victim of Vrolik's syndrome. What she had not predicted was his predisposition towards talking others' ears off. By the look of his copilot, Shepard was not the only one who wished they were _anywhere_ else at that moment.

"...what do you think, doc?"

It took Shepard a full twenty seconds, and a rather pointed look to realize she'd been addressed. In her defense, no one had ever called her "doc" before.

"About?" Shepard deigned to respond, still engrossed near fully in her work.

The pilot, who she had learned to be called "Joker," presumably out of irony, as he had yet to say anything remotely amusing, rolled his eyes at her, and looked exasperated at his copilot, a Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko.

"About the turian the Captain brought aboard." He said it as if it were the most obvious thing outside of mass effect field equations.

"Oh." Shepard replied absentmindedly as she checked the readout again. "You mean the SpecTRe."

"What!?" Joker cried, looking, blessedly, utterly speechless. That was not to say that his mouth stopped moving, however. Even when words were not availed him, his mouth kept running. Perhaps it was habitual? Muscle memory? A shame she'd left her bio scanner in her new quarters.

"Yes. Nihlus, I believe his name was. Scootch over, Lt. Moreau; let me see that display there."

Even as he did so, he found his voice, and the questions returned. "How did you-"

Shepard nearly smiled. Another opportunity to say that one phrase that she never failed to relish the utterance of. "Elementary, really."

"Gah!" Joker threw up his hands as Shepard tested the last display.

She hit her comm, contacting engineer Adams several decks below and aft. "Adams, please raise the hydraulics KSI up by one. I need manual confirmation on the bridge display." A moment , the change registered on the bridge monitor. "Now down by one half." Another change. Shepard chewed the inside of her lip. "We're off by .004 KSI. Calibrating. After this, we should be finished."

"Shouldn't we have checked this sort of thing _before_ takeoff?" Joker mused.

"_Good."_ Came Adams' reply over the intercom. "_Cause the Captain just rang. He wants to see you in the comm room before we hit the relay."_

"Better hurry, then." Joker quipped. "We go FTL in thirty."

"It will not take me that long to finish the corrections, Lieutenant." Shepard scoffed indignantly as she typed.

"I meant thirty seconds." Joker grinned, pointing ahead, out the window. Shepard momentarily considered how the Sol relay was much closer than the last time she'd looked. _The Normandy_ certainly was a swift vessel.

"And I'm already done." Shepard retorted as her omnitool beeped. Then she was off, heading at a brisk pace for the comm room. Joker began the shipwide countdown to relay transit. The door to the comm room slid open to admit Shepard just as the ship lurched beneath her.

Anderson was nowhere to be seen. Nihlus was there though.

_(Wonderful.)_

"Dr. Shepard." He grinned, flashing his inner mandibles _(A decidedly predatory gesture)_. "I was hoping you'd get here first. I would welcome the chance to talk."

"Then please," Shepard folded her arms across her chest, "don't let me impede you."

He smiled at her. _Smiled at her._ "We're en route to Eden Prime. quite the verdant world, I understand."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Not unnaturally so. Why?"

"You've been there." Nihlus stated. "I would like your opinion on the world."

Shepard came to a realization with a jolt, chastising herself at her surprise. _(Of course he's read my file.) _

"I spent a summer there studying some of the various prothean ruins in the northern hemisphere. I understand the primary settlements are in the south." Shepard frowned as her brain fired off at the same speed as the Normandy itself was currently moving. "I believe that one of our marines grew up there," she said, recalling a conversation she'd overheard on the way to the comm room, "why not ask him?"

"Corporal Richard Jenkins is…" Nihlus pause, now beginning to circle Shepard _(like a shark)_, never breaking eye contact. "..._beneath_ my notice. You are not, doctor. You are different."

Then Shepard's brain just _clicked_. She was about to open her mouth to speak when the door behind her slid open. Nihlus ceased his prowling as Captain Anderson walked in. The door locked behind him.

"I think," Anderson began, "it's time to tell the doctor what's really going on."

"No need." Nihlus smiled, glancing at the look on Shepard's face. "She's already figured it out."

Anderson glanced anxiously at her.

"You've found something on Eden Prime. Something suited to my expertise. It is most probable that it would be a prothean device. That's why you recruited me." She turned to Anderson. "Needing a science officer was just the premise."

"Shepard-" Anderson began, but was unable to interrupt Shepard's train of thought.

"But why the secrecy? And the SpecTRe? The SpecTRe suggests a Council interest, but one that needs to be keep secret from all others. Alliance colony, prothean device, Council involvement…" It hit her with the force of a Kodiak. "It's...we found another beacon. Didn't we?" Shepard asked, her lung suddenly devoid of oxygen.

Anderson could only nod. Nihlus' mandibles were contorted in the turian equivalent of a smug grin.

"Anderson recommended you for the beacon's management in transit." Nihlus spoke, his voice vibrated with amusement. "After reviewing your file, I concur. We will retrieve the beacon, and escort it to a classified research vessel. Once we arrive, you will be cleared to join the research team."

Shepard had to struggle for breath. This was...quite simply..._incredible._

"Shepard…"

"Anderson," Shepard gasped, "If you apologize, I will have to hit you."

"I told you she wouldn't mind the deception." Nihlus gloated.

Anderson still looked uncomfortable, but now that he recognized Shepard's reaction for joy, he was less concerned over it.

"_Captain?" _Joker's voice echoed over the intercom with a severity in his voice that was oddly out of place coming from him. The room's three occupants all looked to the ceiling, each subconsciously frowning. "_Transmission from Eden Prime, sir. You'd better see this."_

"Put it on-screen." Anderson ordered, despite a sudden rock that formed nearly instantaneously in the pit of his stomach.

The screen flickered to life.

The video played.

And then the mission parameters changed.


	4. Ready to Drop

"I'm not saying it again, Shepard. The answer is no."

"Captain Anderson, I must-"

"No, Shepard."

Anderson stepped into the elevator, Shepard hot on his heels Nihlus calmly stepped in after them, and Anderson hit the controls to lower them down to the cargo bay.

"I need to go down with the shore party." Shepard declared, a fierce intensity behind her spectacles.

"Shepard, I just said-"

"Can Lt. Alenko or Cpl. Jenkins secure the beacon? Do _they_ have degrees in prothean studies that I'm unaware of? Have they spent years studying the only other beacon humanity has ever encountered?"

"Shepard-"

"How about surgical training? There's going to be casualties down there. Military _and_ civilian."

"Alright!" Anderson cave in, his hand massaging his temples. "You've made your point."

"I will secure a path for your ground team." Nihlus declared, all of his former levity banished. "Your marines will escort Dr. Shepard to the dig site, where we will establish a perimeter with any survivors we encounter while she secures the beacon."

Anderson sighed, but was forced to concede. As much as the Alliance would like it otherwise, this was Nihlus' mission. As a SpecTRe, he had command. The elevator hit the bottom deck.

"Fine." Anderson relented as they stepped forward into the cargo bay. "I'll prep a secondary team for perimeter detail and triage. Just get me an LZ."

Nihlus nodded, then hit the control to lower the cargo door.

"Nihlus!" Cpl. Jenkins exclaimed, just noticing the turian. "You're coming with us?"

Nihlus grinned back at the young man, one hand grasping a handhold at the edge of the ramp tightly. "I move faster on my own." Then he let go, and was swallowed up by the winds.

"New mission parameters." Anderson addressed Lieutenant Alenko." You're to escort Dr. Shepard here to these coordinates." Alenko's omni-tool flashed as it received the data. "Regroup with any survivors you encounter and establish a secure LZ. There is an ABSOLUTE priority asset that we need to recover." Kaidan's eyes grew wide at that. "Everything else is secondary."

"Sir," he began tentatively, "ABSOLUTE priority?"

"You heard me, Lieutenant!" Anderson barked, causing Kaidan to snap to attention.

"Yes, sir!"

Lt. Alenko would've groaned in any other situation. Unfortunately, he'd just been handed a mission profile dire enough to merit N7 response. And he had at his disposal a single marine, and a babysitting job. And an ABSOLUTE-level objective mean one thing to him: no C.A.S. They couldn't risk _the Normandy _to hostile fire, even with the stealth systems.

"Good. Because you just volunteered to carry Dr. Shepard down. She isn't trained on the drop harness."

And now Lt. Alenko _did_ groan.


	5. Landfall

Corporal Richard Jenkins had trained in high-speed, low-altitude drops as part of basic training. Being the contemporary equivalent of an amphibious assault, it was hardly surprising. When he leapt off _the Normandy's _cargo ramp, rigorously drilled instinct took over. It would see him to the drop zone fairly uneventfully.

Lieutenant Alenko was not so lucky. Basic training had not covered carrying a civilian into a combat zone during a drop. Her weight alone threw off his maneuvering abilities, and made his training worse than useless. Every action he took cause his ingrained training to scream against him, even as Shepard was actually screaming.

Somehow, they made it to the ground in one piece.

Alenko turned the thrusters on to full burn at fifty meters, and the pair of them glided gently to the ground. As soon as his feet his dirt, he shrugged the harness off. Fifty meters of full burn had probably overloaded its relatively small mass effect core, but he didn't much care. Shepard was busy dusting herself off. She had declined a suit of armour, opting instead for her standard labcoat. She then reached into her breast pocket, and withdrew her spectacles.

"That was…" Shepard searched for the right words as she donned her glasses, "stimulating." She rolled her shoulders as she began a preliminary omni-tool scan of the immediate area.

Alenko hit his comm. "Nihlus, we've hit the ground. We're approaching the dig site now."

"_Very well." _The turian's voice buzzed in his ear. "_I'll try to find you a clear path."_

"Alright," Alenko acknowledged, then turned to his team. Such as it was, "prepare to move out, everyone. We need to move to the objective. Keep your heads down, and eyes open." It wasn't much of a morale booster, as the pre-combat orders were supposed to be, but he had one trigger-happy marine and a civilian egghead. He didn't foresee this ending well in any regard.

They made their way from the landing zone through a few small fields. Alenko thanked God that Shepard had been to Eden Prime before, because otherwise she'd have probably slowed them down immeasurably to categorize local fauna. He was, however, thankful for her omni-tool. Its scanning programs were powerful enough to act as a combat sensor in its own right. One with considerably more range than the standard issue Alliance gear, so he'd had her link it to his and Jenkins' heads up display. It probably saved their lives. Two of them, at any rate.

Three unknown signatures appeared on the sensor map, approaching at speeds so rapid, that had the shore party still been using their standard scanners, they'd have already been beset. As it was, they had a few seconds to react. Alenko pressed himself into cover, and activated his omni-tool's combat functions. Shepard, Alenko was grateful to see, positioned herself behind a rather large boulder. Curiously, she also opened her omni-tool.

_Surely,_ Alento thought, _she doesn't have any combat programs loaded on that thing._

She didn't, but improvisation was the language of the battlefield, and Shepard found herself remarkably fluent in it for one who'd never actually been in combat before. She pressed a few commands into her omni-tool, and seventy meters away, one of the drones approaching spiraled out of control to crash into a nearby cliff face at full speed. With a grin, Alenko reached out with his biotics, and pulled a second one down to join the first. Jenkins, eager to do his own part, swung around from behind cover to line up a shot. His barriers should have absorbed whatever reaction shots the remaining enemy drone could take. The drone opened fire, and the entire shore party knew at once, that they would not. Alenko and Jenkins recognized the distinctive shill of specialized ammunition. Subsonic rounds that passed right through barriers. Shepard knew only that the sound of the drone's weaponry was _wrong_ somehow. Jenkins collapsed backwards, his body riddled with bullets. Alenko didn't take any further chances with the hostile device. He slid a grenade out from his belt and arced it out around his boulder towards the drone. A second button press saw it detonate directly behind the machine, now a hulk of falling shrapnel. Shepard was already crouched over Jenkins, omni-tool projected scalpel in one hand, and a canister of medi-gel in the other. She had pried off Jenkins' chestpiece, and was attempting to remove the bullets. Alenko knew enough about surgery to know that that in itself was abnormal. Bullets only needed to be removed when they were actively toxic, or their position in the body was life-threatening. The canister of detox that Shepard had positioned beside her patient answered which one it was. Jenkins' breathing was laboured, and even from several meters away, Alenko could tell that it wasn't growing any stronger.

After three minutes, Shepard called it. Not verbally, but then, she didn't need to. When the medi-gel and detox went back on her belt, Alenko knew. Jenkins did too, with what little shred of consciousness he had left. Shepard disabled her omni-tool and replaced Jenkins' chestpiece.

"What happened?" Alenko asked, his voice quavering slightly.

"The projectiles didn't clear his armour very well," Shepard answered in her usual, clinical tone of hers."certainly no vital organs were it. No internal bleeding. Were they regular rounds, he'd be up and running right now with a few dabs of medi-gel."

"Toxic rounds?"

"Yes." Shepard sighed. "Highly. Dissolved in the bloodstream. I was only able to remove a handful of the bullets before...well…" She gestured back at Jenkins' corpse.

"How dangerous are these rounds?" Kaidan asked.

"Well, that depends. To a krogan, they'd produce little more than indigestion. If introduced into a quarian immune system, rapid liquefaction. To humans, they're only truly lethal if left untreated, or if introduced in large quantities."

"Can you make an antidote?"

Shepard shot him a flat stare. "I have three detox canisters, an omni-tool, a non-controlled environment, and a handful of samples. Expect nothing but a temporary patch, if that."

Alenko nodded. "Fair enough." He cast one more glance at Jenkins' corpse before continuing. "Long range comms are jammed, so we can't raise _the_ _Normandy _for evac. We'll have to push on."

Shepard's face adopted a grim expression. "Of course, lieutenant. After you."


	6. Sole Survivor

Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams was currently running. Tactical withdraw would be the words that would eventually make it into her report, but less charitable minds would have dubbed it a rout. What had been left of the 212th under Lieutenant Meyer had made a dash for the dig site, with the hopes of rallying there. Those..._things_ had been there first. It had been a slaughter. Before her mind could go back down that unproductive line of thought, two blips appeared on her sensors.

_Drones._

She began adjusting her pace, adopting a serpentine pattern of movement. The drones opened fire. All of a sudden, the end of the ravine, and the cover of the forest beyond, seemed so fat away. An enemy round bounced off her barriers.

_Damn!_

The late Lt. had insisted they all adjust their barrier settings. Random new frequencies. The techs would've freaked-had any of them been still alive-but it bought every remaining member of the unit a few rounds wall the enemy adjusted their weapons. The drones ceased their fire for a few precious seconds. Time enough for Williams to throw herself on the ground and open fire.

The first drone exploded in a shower of sparks.

_No shields._ Ashley observed.

The second one resumed its attack. A spray of dirt splashed across her visor as the drone's bullets kicked up the ground to her left. A trio of shots put the second drone out of commission.

Indulging in a deep breath of fresh (recycled via air filter) air before surging back to her feet and resuming her dash to the ravine's end.

Her sensor blipped again. Slower.

Ashley threw herself behind a nearby rocky outcropping. Her assault rifle was out and aimed. They'd have to walk around her cover to line up their shots. She'd just have to hope that she could get them both before one managed to get a round through her armour. For the dozenth time that day, she thanked God for her heavier, but tougher, phoenix model suit. She took a deep breath as the signatures on her sensors grew closer. She opened fire as the first rounded the corner. This one had shields. Not enough to survive her volley, but enough to give it time to fire back. She could feel the welts form across her torso as the bullets pinged off of her armour. Then, as the first synthetic fell, a stray bullet tore itself through her hip through one of her armour's joints. She swore as her body recoiled from the pain. Her health monitors began wailing various bio hazard alerts.

Her aim was momentarily skewered, and the last remaining hostile walked forward, seizing the initiative. Williams closed her eyes as she waited for the blasted thing to open fire. Instead, she heard the telltale thrum of biotics. Then a series of pistol shots. When Williams opened her eyes, the synthetic was dead, and two humans, one in a lab coat, and one a marine, stood before her.

The marine was busy making sure that the hostiles were actually disabled. The woman stared her up and down, electric green eyes flashing with surprising intensity from behind her half-moon spectacles. Without speaking, she tapped hastily on her omni-tool. Williams' heads up display helpfully informed her that her automated detox systems had been disabled.

"What the hell-" Williams began, but the words died in her throat as the woman stepped forward, fixing her with that intense stare of hers. Still without speaking, the woman inserted a vial into her armour's injection ports, something implemented into military spec armour to allow medics to administer injections without removing armour. The vial hissed as it inserted its payload into Gunnery Chief Williams' bloodstream.

"Mark the time. In one hour, I'll need to re-administer that."

"Okay, but-" The woman was already walking back to the other marine. They conferred momentarily before the marine turned to her.

"Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, _S.S.V. Normandy._"

"Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams of the 212." She said, snapping a salute. "Are," she cast a glance at the doctor, who was engrossed in her omni-tool's display, "are you the one in charge here, sir?"

He nodded. "We're here to secure an ABSOLUTE-level asset just north of here." He jerked a thumb back at to the woman behind him. "This is Dr. Shepard. She need to get there intact."

"Sir, with all due respect, my entire unit just tried to take that location. I think…" Williams tried to continue, but found a newly-formed lump in her throat, "I'm the only one left."

The lieutenant swore. "Be that as it may, we need to escort her through. Link your omni-tool with hers, and we'll punch through."

"We may have an easier time of it than you'd think." Shepard observed, her eyes still glued to her omni-tool. "The bulk of the enemy force is withdrawing towards the spaceport. Presumably with the objective in tow." Her gaze rose to lock with Alenko's. "We need to move."


End file.
